Untold Tales
by ravenhaired
Summary: A village goodwife receives help from the Lady Morgaine...(And if you've read my slash, don't be put off. This isn't one)


Tales Untold  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own any of Marion Zimmer Bradley's work.  
  
Author's note: Different from my other work. This time...no slash.  
  
~  
  
Berowin sniffed the ale, deemed it drinkable, and sipped cautiously. Teana watched him without expression, keeping one eye on her spinning. "Well, Brother," she said coolly. "What news do you have?"  
  
He ignored her, so Teana persisted: "Have the Saxons been driven off for good, then?"  
  
Again he ignored her.  
  
Teana sniffed. "Has your tongue been cut out of your head, Berowin? Not that it wouldn't be an improvement –"  
  
"I don't want to talk to you, Teana, so be quiet," Berowin replied voice grating and gruff as always. He swirled his ale absently, taking another sip. Teana watched him disapprovingly. From the way he sat there, you would think he drank only sparingly. Well, Sir Berowin gave a lot of false impressions. In pews on Sunday, you would think him naught but the pious observer, a good enough man to take in his bereaved sister. Teana doubted you could get further from the truth. Her hands tightened on the threads, half anger, and half fear.  
  
They sat long into the night like that, Berowin consuming ale after ale with painful slowness, each time when he got up to refill his tankard, he steps less sure and Teana spinning the pattern on a cushion cover. She kept her eyes on her work. Perhaps, if she didn't look at him, or if she didn't make a sound, perhaps he would leave her alone. Perhaps he would go to bed and forget about her. It was a small bubble of hope – a hope that Teana repeatedly tried to repress, because she knew it was false hope. He would not forget about her.  
  
Teana had lost count of the number of times her brother had refilled his tankard, but when he got up this time, he didn't move, he just stood observing her, swaying slightly from side to side. It was late, Teana realised, and the embers of the fire where already darkening. Her hands quickened. If she looked busy, perhaps...  
  
"Did you miss me, sweeting?" He murmured thickly, kneeling down by her chair.  
  
She didn't answer; spinning was becoming difficult. Her hands where trembling too much.  
  
"I asked if you missed me," An unmistakable hint of anger crept into his voice.  
  
"You're drunk, Berowin," She replied primly.  
  
"And so what if I am?" He answered, definitely angry now. "This is my house...by my fire...it is my right to drink here...what are you doing, anyway?"  
  
"Spinning,"  
  
"Spin...spinning?" He slurred. He gripped her wrists, preventing her from continuing.  
  
"Leave me alone, Berowin," She whispered softly. "Please," she looked up into his eyes and his ruddy, bearded face. This was not the brother she remembered from her childhood.  
  
"My house...you're my woman..." He replied, letting go of one of her wrists now and using his over sized hand to run up and down her thigh. "My woman...and I can do with you what I like..."  
  
"Please, Brother, please...this...what you...what we...do...isn't right...the priests..."  
  
"I don't give a damn about the priests," He said roughly, leaning forward and kissing her neck. "Damn the priests to hell,"  
  
And suddenly he was on her. Teana remember very little from such encounters. Rough hands, tears, a pain between her thighs and blood. Sometimes she would try to beat him off with her hands, but that only succeeded in more pain, more blood and more bruises.  
  
When he left her, Teana lay motionless on the floor. She could hear him staggering up the stairs to bed. It was another night's anguish over, she supposed, and she was thankful that he had not tried to take her twice. Slowly she got up and examined herself in the semi-darkness. Her dress was ripped right down the front; a gaping slash like it had been cut away with a knife, to just below her breast. She sighed and began to stoke the flames, succeeding in getting them to stir slightly. She looked around for her cushion cover and saw that it was ruined. The delicately woven threads where broken and the red material was damp. She clutched it tiredly, trying to determine whether it could be salvaged. It could not, she decided bleakly, tossing it aside.  
  
By the time she had tidied the room to her liking, it was already light. She only ever slept when Berowin was at the wars, anyway, so the tiredness made no difference to her. She was due in the church in an hour's time. She dressed dutifully in sombre grey and left the squat little hut long before Berowin would even think of stirring. In fact, Teana thought as she made her way along the crude streets, she had never gotten up this early in a long time.  
  
When she reached the church, she was early. So early, in fact, that Queen Gwenhyfar was still conversing with Father Patricus, murmuring out her sins. Teana could not help a stirring of contempt. Patricus was murmuring back, giving judgement.  
  
Once, when Teana was truly desperate, she had confided in Patricus. He had scolded her for being of Eve's line and being a liar too. How could she spread lies about her brother, so? It was heinous. Her brother, who was a far better Christian than Teana was, who piously kneeled every Sabbath? Madness. "I know all about women, girl, you mark my words. I know all about you and your – your impure ways!"  
  
Teana allowed herself an amusing thought. What could Patricus know of women, he who had never lain with one?  
  
A low murmur of laughter came from her right. Teana jumped and looked around to the shadows. A woman leaned against the wall, looking at Teana with undisguised amusement. "Indeed, how could these celibate priests know women?"  
  
Teana blinked at her. She was short and thin, with glossy black hair. She was distinctively faery-like in appearance and Teana knew of only one woman who fit the description and could read minds too. "My Lady Morgaine," She curtsied to the King's sister.  
  
"Come, sister," Morgaine gripped Teana by the elbow and steered her away, out the church doors again. "Such places make me feel restless. I would not have come, had the Queen not insisted. Poor dear. She comes every morn to talk to the Priest, as if one could sin so much in one day?" Morgaine shook her head. "Tell me of yourself. I have not seen you before – through I am seldom at the Church – and a Christian who could bring themselves to question their religion interests me,"  
  
"My name is Teana," Teana offered, still being guided by Morgaine. Her heart gave a strange jolt as she realised Morgaine was leading her inside the castle grounds, to the private gardens of Gwenhyfar and her ladies.  
  
"Surely there is more to tell than that?" Morgaine glanced at her slight limp. "Much more to tell,"  
  
Teana coloured. "I...I am a village goodwife. There is little to tell of me,"  
  
"I see," Morgaine replied dubiously. She led them to a stone bench, where she motioned Teana to sit. For a moment, Morgaine scrutinised her. "Tell me, Teana, I cannot help you if you do not tell me,"  
  
"I have nothing to tell, my lady,"  
  
"Why do I find that so hard to believe?" Morgaine replied. She looked levelly at Teana. "I can tell you're lying. I can also tell that there is something disturbing you. You are in turmoil,"  
  
"How can you tell?"  
  
"I am a Priestess of Avalon. I can tell these things," Morgaine replied. Suddenly, Teana was not looking at Morgaine. She was looking at someone much older and much wiser, though Morgaine was undoubtedly wise, and a small blue mark glistened at her forehead. The Goddess, Teana realised in astonishment, but surely there was only one God? Then she was just Morgaine again. She had the same blue mark on her forehead, though it was faded with time. Then Morgaine said gently: "The Mother Ceridwen looks after all her children, Teana, whether they know her as a father or a mother,"  
  
"I see," Teana replied softly.  
  
Morgaine hesitated and then: "Come with me. I want to show you something,"  
  
Teana got to her feet and followed Morgaine, who led them deeper into the gardens. They stopped by a small, artificial stream and Morgaine stooped and pointed to a plant. "Do you see that one with the purple?"  
  
"I do,"  
  
"That, mixed with the brown one, will cast out babes from the womb,"  
  
Teana blinked, puzzled. "I do not understand,"  
  
Morgaine sighed and faced her. "Teana, you must drink the juice that is produced by grinding the two together,"  
  
"But – No!" It could not be. That was...that was the worst crime. The worst. Surely...surely she was not carrying Berowin's child?  
  
Morgaine watched tears sliding down her face. She gripped Teana's hand. "You are a Christian and this type of conception is wicked to you. I know this – oft I have thought it myself," An odd look, a shadow, was cast over Morgaine's face for a moment. "I do not think you could love the child begotten in this fashion or...or begotten by this person,"  
  
"How do you –?"  
  
"I am a Priestess of Avalon," Morgaine repeated. She reached down and pulled up the two plants. She offered them to Teana, who was sniffling. "Take these and cast the child from your womb,"  
  
Teana hesitated only briefly, before accepting them. "And take this also," Morgaine produced another plant – this time not from the ground, but from a pocket inside her cloak. It was a black plant with sharp thorns. "Put it in your brother's ale and he will not disturb you. He will sleep more soundly than he ever has,"  
  
Teana nodded and murmured her thanks and turned to leave. "Good luck to you, child," Morgaine murmured as she left.  
  
Teana left the gardens and ignored the church. She hurried down the small, cramped streets and home. Berowin was still asleep. Stupid man, Teana thought wildly, as she began to grind down the herbs Morgaine had indicated.  
  
She mixed the resulting powder with water and drank it all. Then she waited. She was sure something was supposed to happen. Slowly she began to pace. Up and down, up and down, listening to the steady snores of Berowin above.  
  
And then a pain flashed in her abdomen. She cried out as she was driven to her knees, dress soaked through with blood. She screamed and gripped at the earthen floor. "Oh, God, My Father! God! Help me!" No help came. Another name came to her lips. "Mother! Sweet Mother Ceridwen, aid me!"  
  
She was aware of the door opening and a shout of surprise. Then she was being lifted.  
  
*  
  
When Teana awoke, she was warm and comfortable in bed. Someone was nearby, singing softly in a soprano. "What happened?" She asked groggily.  
  
Marra Droggon stood above her suddenly. Marra was her elderly woman, a stern woman with a steely grey bun pulled tight at the nap of her neck. Yet those fierce, hawk-like features where contorted into a sympathetic smile. "You're awake, thank God, I was worried. You had lost so much blood," She paused. "Teana, I'm sorry, but you lost your baby. I could do nothing to save it. I didn't even know you where pregnant,"  
  
Teana feigned sadness. "I didn't know either, Marra. Poor child,"  
  
"Indeed," Marra sniffed. "If you don't mind me saying, but I would lash your brother into order. Big brute came down the stairs as my Jaicen was lifting you and demanded to know what was going on. As if it wasn't obvious. Blood everywhere and you moaning feverishly. Wasn't even concerned about you – just asked who was going to make his dinner, would you believe?" She snorted.  
  
"I would not doubt it," Teana murmured, too softly for Marra to hear.  
  
Marra was silent for a moment, then: "My dear, who was the father? I did not think...you had suitors,"  
  
Teana hesitated. "I did not know him well," She lied. "He was a soldier, new to his uniform,"  
  
"Do...do you know his name?"  
  
"No," Teana sighed. "Tell me: when will I be able to leave?"  
  
"Are you in a hurry to get back to your loutish brother?" Marra snorted, then paused. "My apologies, Teana, that was unkindly said,"  
  
"But none the less true," Teana smiled wryly. "Tell me, though,"  
  
"A good three days, at the least," Marra replied. "I will keep you here. I do not trust your brother, no matter how often he attends mass,"  
  
"Of course,"  
  
It was a relief to be away from Berowin for a few days. She slept soundly, contented to know that the plant that the Lady Morgaine had given her was safely tucked in her pouch, which Marra had brought to her, informing her that her dress would be burned for such a stain was unsightly.  
  
On the second day, Berowin came to her. He was unkempt, hair uncombed and clothes unwashed. Marra wrinkled her nose at him, reluctantly leaving the two of them alone.  
  
"You miscarried, you little whore," Berowin snarled, little above a whisper. Sounds could carry. "Whose babe was it, then? Which man got between your legs?"  
  
Teana scowled at him in contempt. "I don't have to listen to you. You wouldn't try to rape me here – not with Marra and Jaicen," At least he does not think it is his, she thought, strangely relieved.  
  
Berowin smiled nastily. "No – I am not stupid, whore,"  
  
"That is debatable," Teana said coolly.  
  
Berowin took two quick steps forward and gripped her about the neck. Teana opened her mouth to scream, when Berowin shoved his huge, churlish hands over her mouth. She struggled, though eventually hung exhausted in his hands.  
  
Berowin leaned down to her ear. "Don't treat me for the fool, Teana," He murmured softly and kissed her neck. "It is not advisable. But know this: the first night you come home...I will take you so many times you wont be able to sit down for a week,"  
  
A semi-cry choked its way from Teana's mouth.  
  
Berowin smiled again, inclined his head and left.  
  
Two days later, Marra declared her able to leave. She left and went home, clutching the small plant. He smiled when he came downstairs, reaching out to stroke her hair. "I knew you couldn't stay away,"  
  
Teana did not bother to correct him.  
  
"It is said that a woman who just gave birth is the most beautiful of all," He drew her into his arms, sniffling at her hair, reminding Teana of the dogs she had seen sniffling at discarded meat.  
  
"I did not give birth," Teana said quietly and, for the first time, thought of the small babe she had carried within her without derision. For a moment, her eyes filled with tears. Poor child – was it the babe's fault, the crimes of its father? She sniffed softly. It was probably the last chance she would ever have to mother a child – even if it was her brother's.  
  
"Ah, don't cry. I don't like to see tears," Berowin rubbed her face roughly.  
  
Teana felt the distain for Berowin again and as she stared at him, she thought of a child just like him. Could she love it? Teana doubted it. How could she look at it without loathing? She could not, she realised.  
  
Teana nodded and turned away. Berowin spent the day getting drunk. He did little else during the absence of campaign.  
  
When dusk was darkening the sky and Berowin was too drunk to get the ale himself, Teana came forward with a smile and took his tankard. "Here, brother, let me get you ale,"  
  
He smiled at her and ran his hand up her thigh. She barely suppressed a shudder, went to the barrel of ale and took out the vial of powder – the powder made by grinding the plant that Morgaine had given her down, which she had done earlier. She tipped the powder in, filled up the tankard and swirled it around.  
  
Then she gave it back to Berowin. He sipped it and then took some more sips. Teana sat opposite him and watched his eyelids grow heavier, until eventually, the tankard fell from his hand.  
  
She smiled, got up and bent to pick up the tankard. As she straightened up, she noticed an odd thing. Berowin's chest was not moving. She stared it in shock, as it made no movement.  
  
Then, tentatively, she put her forefingers in front of his mouth. There was no breath. To be sure, she felt his neck, where she knew his life beat should pulse. It was not there.  
  
Berowin was dead.  
  
She looked in disbelief at the tankard. Lady Morgaine had only said it would put him to sleep – more soundly than he ever had. It was said the Priestesses of Avalon did not lie – or, at least, not often. As she thought on Lady Morgaine's language, she realised it had been a clever play on words. Shock filled her.  
  
Then, aloud, she said: "My thanks, Lady Morgaine,"  
  
~  
  
The End 


End file.
